


Return

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dickensian AU, F/M, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: It might not be much, but her family is proud of their periodical publishing house. There’s no way Hermione Granger will let The Daily Telegraph force them out, but she might need a benefactor to fight them off. A tale of Fate, loss and love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Dickensian AU: Level 2 - await your surprise prompt.
> 
> Hello! My surprise prompt was: It might not be much, but her family is proud of their periodical publishing house. There’s no way Hermione Granger will let The Daily Telegraph force them out, but she might need a benefactor to fight them off.
> 
> INFINITE love and gratitude to In Dreams and Kyonomiko for their tireless efforts with this fest. It has been an absolute pleasure to participate in! They are absolute GEMS.  
> Endless thanks to Courtinginsanity for her beta work. All remaining errors are my own.

* * *

_There will never be one walking with such courage and fear as one who walks in hope of love._

Helen Granger, Hermione's mother, had repeated that paradoxical sentence for as long as Hermione had memory. At the simple age of six, Hermione had thought her mother quite silly; how could a person be brave while still afraid? She held steadfastly to this practical opinion until the age of eleven.

To be precise, she was eleven years, eight months and eighteen days, and it was the sixth day in the month of June when the first drop of understanding penetrated her senses, for it was on this sunny day that Hermione met a particular boy—a boy with grey eyes and hair nearly as pale as his skin.

Her opinion of his hair and skin was actually the first sentence she spoke to him. The boy had reacted accordingly: a pale eyebrow promptly lifting with his chin, a sneer accentuating and exaggerating the angles of his face before he responded that her hair was so bushy she'd never know if bird landed and made a nest in it.

Such a remark from one of the boys in her primary class, like Ronald Weasley or Dean Thomas, would have had her running the opposite direction to hide her tears. But Hermione observed something different about this stranger just before the humiliating watery response could take hold in her eyes— _his_ grey irises red along the rims.

The boy had been crying just before Hermione happened upon him.

Understanding and knowledge forged the path to a brave new response, and for the first time, Hermione laughed at such a remark.

The boy seemed shocked at first, but then joined in. He laughed all the more after Hermione told him that her mother says that very thing all the time, adding that she could be the first person ever to hold an entire garden in her hair without losing a single flower.

The boy laughed and _cackled_ until actual tears of mirth spilled down his cheeks and he was rolling on the grass, hands wrapped around his waist. If it had been that freckle-faced ginger Ronald, Hermione would have scolded he'd dirty his clothes even more, but Hermione found her tongue uncharacteristically heavy with this unknown boy..

When the boy finally regained control of himself he sat upright, straight as an iron post, squared his shoulders, and proffered his hand; he introduced himself as Draco.

It was because of Draco that Hermione skipped home that evening, her mother's words of courage and fear bouncing between her ears.

They bounced in her ears this sunny sixth day of June seven years later as she marched along the familiar sidewalk that would cut across the cemetery which was home to The Bench.

"It is folly to take _this_ particular path," Hermione muttered, admonishing herself for clinging to such foolish hope. "Draco did not once appear all summer last year, which means it is utterly improbable he will come back _this_ year." Hermione's lips drew inward at that dreadful thought and she swiped at a fallen curl, yanking it behind her ear as her modest straw hat with a blue ribbon kept her from securing it back in her updo of pins.

Reason and logic had always proved a solid anchor when wading through the murky waters of emotions. They were proving useless in fortifying any manner of courage as she rounded the corner and began to follow the path up the lush green hill. Her heart accelerated with every step closer to the top—closer to a certain aforementioned bench.

"You are being ridiculous, Hermione," she scolded. "He will _not_ be there. You have five summers worth of lovely memories to hold to when you're old and grey and alone with Father and Mother's publishing house, which is a great deal more than many other women had in their old age. You should be thankful for the past and not wasting such frivolous time with hang it all daydr—"

Her throat closed as wind left her lungs.

 _He was there_.

On The Bench.

Draco was _there._

Her feet turned to lead on the spot, and she could not coerce them forward.

She could not even contrive a single logical sentence at the moment, save for 'Draco was _here_!' It echoed within her, swelling and filling every empty crack and crevice in her fortress of facts, bathing her with brilliant and unspeakable _joy_.

"Hermione!"

Had her name ever sounded so poetic? So euphonic? Had anyone ever shouted it with such glee before? In the span of a heartbeat she concluded the answer to all these questions to be in the negative. A very emphatic and firm 'no' at that, especially when the owner of the voice leaped from his perch on The Bench and began running in her direction.

_Oh!_

He was running towards her; she ought to reciprocate...oughtn't she? Or would that break all rules of propriety, marr her reputation forever, and reduce her to the level of whore?

Well, the devil hang it all if it did!

Draco was running to her, and nearly _at_ her, and so she found it in herself to run as well, throwing her arms around his shoulders, twining them around his neck as he caught her up in his arms, twirling them around and around (and devil hang it all if the world saw her petticoat and drawers, thank you very much).

What followed was merry sympathy of laughter and giddy exclamations from male and female:

"You're _here_!"

" _You_ are here!"

"I thought you'd gone away to business or the Navy!"

"I hoped against hope you'd come!"

"You're _here_!"

"I cannot believe you came again, after…"

Draco slowed his dizzying spinning, stilling his movement as the word 'after' passed his lips. Hermione's grip slackened, allowing her to slide down, landing quite gracefully on the dirt path yet uncertain as to how to occupy her hands. Draco appeared to be stricken with the same indecision as their eyes met; as she gazed into those eyes of iridescent greys, she concluded that he seemed to be in no hurry to create polite distance between them, so neither would she.

"After last year?" she prompted, keeping her voice low and free from accusation.

His eyes clouded instantly. "Yes, about that…" His hands fell from her waist, forcing her to regretfully withdraw her own, but then he reached out, righting her hat atop her curls, lips bent upwards in a way that softened is angular features before she could feel any keen sense of loss. "You truly thought I'd joined the Navy?"

Her heart burned within her chest, and she would have sold half the books in her collection to know every thought within his gaze. "Well—" she shrugged a shoulder "—I know there is not a book I have read that you have not; there is some measure of courage in you, given the circumstances of how we first met, and you—"

She snapped her jaw shut, clapping a hand to her mouth before the last words could tumble out. Some semblance of her 'daughter of a respectable businessman' reputation remained intact as no one had been around to see her undergarments, and there was no need to spit in the face of such fortune with bold statements like, _you would look quite dashing in an officer's uniform._

"And I…?" The smirk he bore gave indication he had guessed the conclusion of her sentence while her hand covered her mouth still. The darkening glaze of his eyes as they studied her, likely taking in her flushed cheeks told a story she was not certain she was brave enough to hear…

She bit down on her lip, allowing her hand to fall back to her side and cleared her throat. "It was either that or your father had put you to work at last." A wry smile worked its way up her face. "Decided you had had enough time loafing about in that private school of yours, and it was high time you earned your keep. Learned the family trade and all that…"

His lips curled gracefully as his expression took on a more serious tone. He studied her for three silent—internally thunderous—heartbeats more, a distinct bob in his throat, before he said, "Nothing of the sort." He kept his voice low, as if sharing an intimate confidence. "I would like to gloss over my absence as nothing of significance, but I fear it was illness that kept me away last year."

Her brows pulled together, drawing concerned lines over her nose. "In your family? Is everyone alright?"

"We are now." Draco nodded, tucking a dangling curl behind her ear as if he couldn't help himself, as if she were the manifestation of a dream. "I caught a bad case of the flu just before the end of term last year, and just as I was shaking it off, Mother caught it. Father was fortunately spared from it all, but in the midst of nursing Mother, some nasty chest cold decided it liked me and settled in."

Hermione couldn't help the gasp escaping her lips while Draco gave a gentle shake of his head. "Nothing to waste time fretting over now. I simply had the worst luck shaking the insufferable cough. Had to study at home with a tutor all of fall term and the doctor restricted my time outdoors, but—" his face broke out in the most glorious of smiles, reflecting the sun itself as he lifted his hat and waved a hand down the length of his body "—as you can see, right as rain, fit as a fiddle now!"

It would be simply mortifying to giggle like some silly school girl, and as Hermione was _not_ some vapid fool, she purposefully pressed her lips together until she'd regained full composure of herself, permitting the corners to lift upwards until then. "I am all the more grateful to see you here and now, then. Has your mother made a full recovery?"

Draco shrugged, setting his hat back on his head and rubbed his neck. "All is well now, we've made a fully recovery, and—wait a moment!"

The gentleman turned on his heel, sprinting back to the benching, leaving Hermione with nothing to do but admire how he'd grown into his lanky frame in the span of two years; how well his shoulders filled out his jacket, how marvelous it was to have such long legs for—

Hermione's eyes focused on a sprig of bright yellow in Draco's hands as he took long strides back to her, beaming.

"Took a bit of doing," he said, proffering the yellow bundle to her. "And I'll have you know that every florist in London thinks I'm mad, but I finally happened upon a charming establishment near that hole-in-the-wall tea shop where I was robbed—"

"You were not robbed, Draco."

"I was _so_." His eyes glittered with playful indignation. "I would swear in court to this day that I was robbed in that little place four years ago, and it was that devil cat."

Hermione granted herself a slight giggle. _This time_. "Crookshanks did not steal your handkerchiefs. You are forever forgetting them, and I maintain you simply had none with you that day."

"Ludicrous!" The yellow daffodils were hoisted high in faux-shock and then hidden behind the gentleman's back, a pale eyebrow angled as said gentleman smirked. "If I forgot my handkerchiefs, what in heaven's name did I give you when you started in with that dreadful sneezing fit?"

"It was a napkin from the table."

His eyebrows furrowed has he leaned his face down, down, _down_...so that his breath tickled her nose, and she could now swear to the fact that Draco's eyes were vivid sapphire-speckled lakes of silver. "It was a handkerchief from a new plain set Mother just gave me for my birthday. She scolded me when I couldn't find them at the end of the day." _God in heaven, had his nose always been such carved perfection?_ "You thanked me and gave it back to me. Crookshanks came up and made a mess of things and when we were ready to go, the handkerchief was gone. That fat orange menace is a thieving blighter, and you won't get your present until you admit I'm right."

Whether by nerves or out of genuine hilarity in his words, the spell of the moment was broken and Hermione laughed—outright and much louder than a woman ought, she knew, and the shocked expression on Draco's face did nothing in the least to stop "Steam Engine Cackle" in its tracks.

When it was all said and done and she'd regained composure, she observed that Draco bore a bemused expression as she righted and adjusted both hat and shawl, which had both suffered the consequences of her outburst.

"Did I miss something?" he drawled, something frightfully akin to hurt hiding in the undercurrent of his tone and eyes.

"Not at all, my friend!" She stepped up, and turned, coming right up to him, her right arm almost brushing against his left, where the flowers remained behind his back. "But you see, presents are freely given, whether the recipient is in the right or the wrong, and I'm afraid my elation over seeing you again after two years got the better of me."

The young man brightened instantly, in both countenance and spirit, and the flowers found their way to her side. She took the bouquet, heart subsequently racing and breath slowing. She fingered the delicate petals and lifted her eyes to his.

"You remembered, then?" she queried softly.

"How could I forget?" His response was as gentle as the breeze and she tilted her head, sliding her eyes right, breathing in the sweet sacredness of this moment. "We met this very day seven years ago. Father had banished to my room for God-knows-what now, but I managed to stick the metaphorical finger to _him_ —" Hermione scoffed while winked "—by sneaking out and getting hopelessly lost, winding up scared and alone in the middle of a cemetery when this angel of mercy with bushy hair found me and showed me the way back home, but not before she dragged us to five different florist shops because she was on the hunt to find the very _last_ daffodils of the year."

Heat bloomed in Hermione's cheeks, spreading a warmth that sank into her bones.

"I missed you a great deal last summer, Hermione," Draco continued, sparing her from contriving a proper response. "I miss you every year. I count down to this day, coming to this place. I wish all the time that you would let us exchange addresses to write throughout the year and we could have more than just these summer months."

The impossible—the utter _unthinkable_ —followed when Draco tucked a slender finger under her chin, lifting her face, tracing her jawline with his thumb. "You were my first true friend and you remain my truest of friends to this day. The memories of you and our summer afternoons brought me through some of the darkest days and nights of my life."

His throat bobbed and time froze as his thumb continued with those hypnotizing circles. Hermione's mouth had never seemed so parched as she parted her lips…

"Draco, you a—"

"I'm staying in Lon—"

They stopped speaking simultaneously, pensive silence gathering between them. She blinked through two thunderous heartbeats. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Are you…?" Hermione began, then snapped her mouth shut, swallowing and gathering her courage. "Were you telling me that you are to stay in London longer than usual?"

"Yes." Draco nodded, bending his arm and offering it to Hermione. The young woman transfered her simple bouquet of bright yellow to her opposite hand to slip her hand slightly, ever-so-slightly, into the crook of his arm, which Draco tugged to a more secure position before leading them down the path.

"I am to begin courses at The University of London in the fall," he said, harmonious notes of pride and excitement in his timbre. "I mean to study Law."

"How thrilling." Hermione hoped her pleasure was far from excessive or too obvious, but it was difficult to hide such feelings when her very soul beamed at his gentle chuckle.

"I am not certain that is the exact word I would use to describe my forecasted future," he answered, "but it will be of use and value, which is most important to me."

She considered his answer, inclining her head. "Does your father mind your decision?"

"Not a word of argument from him." His eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "He has been less overbearing and more willing to listen since mine and Mother's brush with eternity last year. And it helps that my degree would be beneficial to _him_ as well."

"Oh? In your family trade?"

Draco's lips pursed together. "Of sorts," was his cryptic response, and instead of expanding, he turned their conversation back to his previous introduction as they neared the bottom of the hill and veered left, heading in the direction of simple tea shop. "My purpose in telling you this is that I should very much like to give my address whenever you would be so kind as to receive it. I would like to ask for yours, that I may call on you. If you would allow it, I would like to meet your parents. I want to send you flowers and baubles and books. And I would very much like the pleasure of year-round correspondence between calls and tea outings."

"Gracious!" Was it possible for a heart to cease beating while pounding against its bony cage? She offered him a kind smile nonetheless. "It sounds like you mean to establish yourself as a permanent fixture…" An evasive tactic: acknowledgement without quite answering…

Which he ignored or did not take to heart, for he stopped walking and immediately stepped in front of her. "If you will allow it, please, Hermione." His brow creased before he added, "And, that is, if there is no one else with whom—"

"No!" she hastened to answer, not even a little embarrassed at the force of her outburst. She stepped forward, a toe of her worn but freshly polished shoe brushing against the toe of his new and expensive boot. "There is no one else, Draco. There never has been." A fumbling and curious kiss from Ronald Weasley last Christmas under a sprig of mistletoe hardly counted…

"Well then." Draco reached out and took her free hand in both of his, gently rubbing his thumb over hers. "I repeat, if it would be acceptable to you, I would very much like to take a proper step forward with you."

* * *

The sun had begun its idle descent in the summer sky by the time Hermione made for home; thoughts muddled and hazy, not able to focus on much at all, save for the fact that the clouds always appeared darkest when the light seemed to be at its loveliest.

She dug deep within herself for more fortying courage.

Draco was to remain in London the duration of this year.

For the next _four_ years.

They had discussed many other things on their afternoon walkabout and tea, all things merry and of little or no other consequence, save for the fact they were intimate conferences entrusted freely to each other. And no one else.

His sincere bidding, ' _Please, Hermione'_ , thrumming through her veins all the while. Whether it was as the beating of distant battle drums or the thrilling drumroll of an orchestra, announcing the next movement, Hermione had yet to determine.

A breeze floated curly tendrils across her face and she loosed a slow breath, yanking them behind her ear. Anything to give her hands an occupation and keep them from trembling.

He had asked for her _name._ Her full name. Just before they parted ways, coming back to The Bench. "I respect your wishes to think over my request, but if I may, I have one last thing to ask of you today."

"Yes?" Other girls like Lavender Brown would have responded with something coquettish. Something like, _only one?_ But, her mouth had turned to sand again as his clear eyes slowly blinked at her.

"Your name," he answered, inclining his head to her. "Your proper name. We were children when we met, and I have taken it for granted all these years that we're on such intimate terms with each other."

The world had come to a stuttering halt at the word 'intimate,' but Draco seemed to take no notice. "And if I'm able to address you as 'Miss So-and-so', then I will have the pleasure of requesting permission to call you 'Hermione.'"

"Granger," she had blurted, compelled by some powerful and otherworldly forces. "Hermione Granger," she said again, slow and clear.

"Miss Granger." He had grinned broadly and lifted a hand to his hat, tipping it lightly. "Shall we meet here again tomorrow?"

"We shall." She was beaming before circling crows cawed, drawing her attention to the time of day. "Oh, I'm afraid I must go." She'd spun on her heel, launching herself down the hill before doing something truly scandalous, pausing halfway down to toss back over her shoulder: "And I prefer 'Hermione'!"

Her fingers fiddled with the fringe of her shawl as she marched herself back home. There was no more avoiding the inevitable. Their obvious class distinction would come into play now. While both from business families, his was clearly the wealthier. His manners, his schooling, his clothes, the way he had only known of certain sections of London before meeting Hermione, the way he'd almost gagged coming to more _pungent_ areas—everything about Draco screamed that he came from more money than she.

He would even come to learn _all_ of her background...What if it came to make a difference now that he wanted to…to… _court her_?

She sighed, rounding a corner of the sidewalk, lifting her skirts to avoid an all too family lining of mud and horse manure where carriages usually stalled, waiting for paying customers.

Perhaps this is more of what Mother had always meant with her saying. If it came to it, and it mattered to him: the full measure of her background, the money, the fact that her mother worked, and that Hermione should like to have some means of an occupation while in the role of 'wife'...

She swallowed, banishing her qualms down to her toes.

If it came down to making a choice, her parents and their publishing house would come first.

It always had.

It always would.

* * *

"Sorry I am late getting back, Mother," Hermione called out, hanging her hat and and shawl on her designated peg on the wall, making her way to the drawing room. "I found someone I knew on my walk, and thought I'd check to see tomorrow's deliveries were organised properly, and—"

Her words died on her lips as not one, but _two_ gentleman rose from their seats; one offering a tight smile under a thick brown mustache, the other, portly and balding, and flashing his teeth more than he was _smiling_ …

"Hello, darling." Her father stepped forward, dropping a light kiss to her temple. "You remember Mr. Nott?" He gestured to their non-smiling guest as he led her by the hand to the sofa where her mother sat.

"Of course." Hermione nodded to the gentleman, stifling the urge to gulp a hard breath. Or shiver as his glittering eyes appraised her before returning her nod. "If I may—" he echoed her father's movement's forward, giving the table a wide berth "—you've blossomed into a handsome young woman. I see you've finally managed to tame your hair."

Her shoulders stiffened as she lowered herself beside her mother, lacing her fingers together in tight knots. "Thank you," she forced through her lips.

Mr. Nott canted his head, studying her as though she were a horse in a barn. "Very handsome indeed." He blinked, proffering his hand to her father. "The offer stands, Mr. Granger. For a hasty arrangement, we can discuss the possibility of a fixed interest rate once the two are in the family way."

Blood drained from Hermione's face and she felt her mother's left shoe press into her right. Her father coughed as he led Mr. Nott to the foyer. "We'll need time to discuss things, sir."

"Right, right." The gentleman's voice boomed in the open room. "Just not too long. My offer stands until the end of the week."

Hermione and her mother continued in a thick silence; Hermione's expectant stare fixed on the entryway, waiting for her father to return alone. Heaven knew what her mother had chosen to look at. Possibly their tea set with painted delicate blue flowers. Or perhaps the bare fireplace. Or the ridiculous knick-knacks along the mantle she'd insisted on displaying around their humble home above the publishing business—Mother insisted such frivolity gave the impression of having more money.

Hermione thought them useful for little more than collecting dust.

Burdened footfalls sounded in the foyer, making their way to the drawing room. " _The family way_?" Hermione rose as her father's shadow crossed the threshold of the room, feeling as though a knife was slicing through a dense fog. "You assured me we were doing well this quarter." Her fists clenched into tight fists. "You _promised_ me we were doing better, Father!"

"We are."

"What little I heard from Thoros Nott suggests the precise _opposite_."

"Hermione…" Her father's shoulders sagged as he came and took her hands in his, moving to kneel, forcing the young woman back beside her mother, who instantly bound an arm about her daughter's waist.

"It hasn't been enough," her mother murmured. "We've been behind on payments for too long, and the bank is demanding payment in full by the end of the month."

The words were as stones tossed into a dried up well. Falling down, down, _down_ …

"And there are no other options?" Hermione blinked into her father's weary brown eyes...Funny how they managed to have such similar eyes even though…

" _The Daily Telegraph—"_

"Hang _The Daily Telegraph_!" Hermione hissed, cutting her father off. "They've been hounding on _The Niffler_ 's door for a decade-and-a-half now, and they're not getting us now. What exactly is Mr. Nott proposing by means of assistance?"

"Do you remember his son, Theodore?"

The falling stones found their mark at last, crashing into Hermione's chest…

"He's just graduated from private school, and—"

"And this would somehow be a mutually beneficial arrangement…" Hermione supplied, reeling and breathless.

Her mother cleared her throat. "The two of you have met several times. You commented once that he's not beastly at the table like Ronald."

"And smart as a whip, according to Thoros," her father added...as if either of their contributions mattered.

Hermione's heart sank down into her shoes, seeping out onto the floor. "So, for the sake of family, he'll help save _The Niffler_?"

"Yes."

Her corset became unbearably tight.

All previous hopes of Draco died in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity. Errors are my own.  
> I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

* * *

"Good evening Mister Draco."

"Hello, Dobson," Draco answered, doffing his coat and hat and passing them into the butler's waiting arms. "A beautiful day out, was it not?"

"Quite so, sir," came the automatic response that had Draco smirking.

"You're a terrible liar, Dobson," he teased, righting his jacket and carding a hand through his hair. "You hate the sun almost as much as you hate London."

"I would not mind the sun so if it did not interfere with the quality of the parlour maid's work," Dobson supplied, nose high in his obvious disgust. "They are far too easily distracted, sir."

Draco chuckled at their butler's plight, adjusting his tie and checking the bottom of his shoes. "Everyone needs a bit of sunshine, Dobson, gives reason for hope."

Dobson hummed as if to agree by means of disagreeing as Draco began up the spacious, gleaming foyer. "Have I missed the gong?"

"No, sir," Dobson answered. "Five more minutes; your mother is in the library."

"Thank you, Dobson," Draco called out, allowing his voice to bounce around the room as his heels clicked up, up, _up_ , the hall. "'I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart'..." he murmured, crossing into the large open doorway on his left. "Hello, Mother, darling!"

"Draco!" His mother dropped her book, hand grasping at her dress over her heart, eyes flying from her son to the large window. "Have you been gone all this time?"

"I have indeed!" The young man dropped a kiss to his mother's forehead, handing her book to her before dropping into a chair opposite. "Another horticulture book, I see." His face broke out into a grin that he could not contain, and did not even try to.

"Yes, your father has been keeping me in regular supply," she answered. "I have several ideas regarding the flora of the manor grounds to discuss with Hagrid when we return to Wiltshire at the end of the month."

"Ho hum, so I'm to be replaced with trees and flowers and other forms of vegetation?" Draco bemoaned, eyes and timbre full of jest as he crossed an ankle over his knee.

"Oh, you." His mother laughed, rising elegantly as any queen from her throne. "You would be leaving me even if you had selected Oxford or Cambridge."

A smirk curled on Draco's lips as he opened his mouth—

"Thankfully my son has brains enough to know that any institution worth its salt will allow for a non-religious option for its graduates."

Draco foot dropped to the floor, posture stiffening. "Hello, Father."

His father hummed in way of response, keen gaze surveying his son from head to toe. "Did you find some productive means of amusing yourself this afternoon?" Lord Malfoy was never one for much of a preamble.

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line. "I was not aware today was meant to be especially productive, Father." Not untrue...and perhaps just evasive enough…

Pale grey eyes blinked and narrowed at him. "Everyday is meant to be productive for a Malfoy. Especially when one has been given a second chance in life."

"Yes, sir." Draco stifled a cough at the back of this throat as his father withdrew several envelopes from his dark jacket pocket. "Would any of those letters be of some urgent matter you wish to discuss with me?" It did no good prolonging any inevitable conversation; the anticipation only became all the more sickening as time passed.

"They all do, as it happens." Lord Malfoy thrust the small pile in his son's face and Draco took them without verbal question, though he felt his mother's perceptive gaze as a lone brow arched in silent query. "I'm all too happy to have my son further build his mind with a university degree and it is even more pleasant that expenses can be cut substantially knowing you will be occupying this house instead of letting some room in a dormitory or rundown boarding house, but I think even further measure should be set in place to keep your reputation intact."

A scoff escaped Draco's lips before he could help himself. "I was not aware it was in danger of coming undone."

"None of your cheek." His father's gaze narrowed further while his mother bit down on her lips, the corners of her mouth quirking. "I will not condone this fine house becoming an open bachelor establishment while you remain in London year-round—"

"I shall be far too busy with studies, Fa—"

" _Which is why_ ," Lord Malfoy continued, obviously ignoring his son's interjection, "we will be announcing your engagement by summer's end. Just before autumn term begins."

The song in his heart died, his breath stilled in his lungs. "And just _whom_ am I to wed, sir?"

"I have been in correspondence with Matthew Greengrass these last few months." His father waved over the letters. "You will remember he is the Baron of Garnish Hall in Lincolnshire and has two daughters. Daphne is your age, but should you wish to wait a year or two for the younger daughter, I would not be opposed to a lengthy engagement."

Salvation came in the form a of loud gong, silencing the rising arguments on Draco's tongue as his father marched to the library door. "Your engagement before the summer's end is non-negotiable, Draco. We can discuss this more over dinner."

A fog of emotions swirled about Draco, sinking into his skin as a name flickered and dimmed in his mind: _Hermione_.

He could not lose her. Not again.

He needed to breathe. He needed to _think…_

"Are you going to dress for dinner?" His mother's hand lay gentle upon his shoulder; he had not been aware she had moved towards him.

"I will not." He rose swiftly, snatching his mother's hand to kiss her delicate fingers. She had meant to be comforting, after all. "I need to think outside of these walls; you'll give my regrets to Father at dinner. I shall return at a decent hour, no need to wait up."

Lady Malfoy loosed a slow sigh as Draco made for his escape. "Your father only wants what is best for you."

"Then he should trust me to hold to rules of decorum and not force my hand so." He tossed a look over his shoulder, throat bobbing as his mother floated to him, slipping her hand in his. "I am not some vile young stag bucking for his freedom."

"He knows, Draco. And so do I." She lifted herself to her tiptoes, kissing his cheek softly. "He came so close to losing the both of us last year, you know he only has your best interests at heart."

"He has a peculiar way of demonstrating it," he countered, squeezing her hand before marching back to the front door. Dobson would be busy assisting his father dress for dinner, but no matter; he'd find his coat and hat himself.

A dinner with Theo was what he needed now.

' _Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,_

_Ah! she did depart!'_

* * *

" _Married_?" A heavy glass slammed against a rough wood table.

Draco grunted, taking a long, slow sip from his pint.

"But that is a permanent and lifelong commitment," his companion, one Theodore Nott (known as 'Theo' to friends and associates) exclaimed.

"Quite."

"The only freedom is in death, my friend."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am familiar with the terms of the institution of marriage, Theo."

His friend's green eyes glittered in such a way that Draco knew the conversation was far from over. "After all, divorce is rarely an option your kind takes."

"'My kind'?" Draco snarled. "We attended the same private boarding school for seven years; pray tell, where is the dividing line between the two of us?"

Theo picked at a piece of lint too infinitesimal to be visible to the naked eye. "I'll not inherit a title, a manor, and seasonal home in London when my old man comes to a sticky end—and he _will_ come to a sticky end," Theo inserted as Draco opened his mouth. "It will be tragic and awful because he will have angered the wrong person, made the wrong deal and be unable to pay the piper…"

"Point well received, Theo." Draco picked at the food on his platter, possessing very little appetite. "I am the only child of Lord Lucius Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, and—"

"And therefore expected to make certain sacrifices, including, but not limited to, marrying a beautiful heiress to continue this ignoble and glorious bloodline."

Draco shoved his plate away, swallowing half-a-dozen curses he would rather enjoy launching across the table, but he refused to give Theo the satisfaction. Said gentleman appeared pleased regardless as he eagerly speared a chip from Draco's plate and speared three more when Draco huffed and gave a dismissive wave.

"You're especially brooding tonight, my friend," said Theo, only after he had polished off every last chip on Draco's plate and returned to his own beef pie. "You know I jest, and I had not meant to make light of your predicament—"

"Liar." Draco snorted.

Theo's head tilted, a sheepish grin forming in agreement. "But it was all in _fun_. I presumed you already knew, or at least knew _of_ , your future-fiancé, had already envisioned your brood of beautiful offspring and this irritation was simply over the timing."

He stuffed a large bite in his mouth, chewing slowly, eyeing Draco all the while until the Malfoy heir finally shifted in his seat, reaching for another swig of beer. Theo followed his example with a long pull of his own.

"You love someone else," Theo declared as he lowered glass, plain and simple. As if he were observing it had not rained today.

Draco stiffened, declarations of denial on the tip of his tongue… "I do," he answered instead. Why deny the simplest of truths? He had been thinking of hazelnut and cinnamon-coloured irises under chestnut curls and a hat since seeing her this afternoon…

Since the day she had found him seven years ago...

He pursed his lips at Theo's triumphant gleam. "One you are not allowed to love, perhaps?" Theo asked, grinning, but Draco caught the ring of seriousness in his friend's timbre.

"I don't know," Draco admitted, threading his fingers together over his lap. "There are many times when I see the change Mother speaks of in Father...but then announcements like today's…" He grasped the back of his neck, rubbing hard. "Marriage would be too soon to discuss with her, though; we've only just seen each other for the first time in two years today."

"Two _years_?"

Draco shifted in his seat, bracing himself. "She is from London, and therefore I only see her over summers I am here for the end of the season. Mother and I usually stay longer... But you will remember I was sick last summer…"

"Quite," Theo murmured, a shadow flickering across his features. Unlike Hermione, Theo had Draco's addresses and had written weekly letters to Draco, of life and the beginning of term and their instructors until Draco had returned to school. "How many summers then?"

"Seven." It was useless to hold back the flood of truth now...

Theo gave a low whistle, holding up seven fingers, making a show of looking over each one before looking back to Draco. "How is it this is the first I am hearing of her?"

Draco winced at the undercurrent of hurt in his friend's question. "It was not an intentional withholding—not _entirely_ ," he amended at his friend's arched brow. "Since our first meeting only happened because I was being a spoiled little princeling, I kept her out of my story to Mother and Father because I worried he would somehow find her and _she_ would be in trouble too."

"Intriguing, yet hardly illuminating."

"Yes, yes." Draco raked a hand through his hair. "Seven summers ago, this very day, actually, I was mad at Father for something. I snuck out of the house and got hopelessly lost in the business district before coming to a small church. There is a cemetery on a hill behind the church, and eleven-year-old Draco thought he could spy his way home from the top of a hill, but he could not."

"Ah so, the fair maiden rescues the dunce of a prince in this fairy tale," Theo smirked.

Draco scoffed, then chuckled, relieved to see ire falling from his friend. "That sums it up. She said she would help me if I accompanied her on a mission of sorts." He chuckled again, memories of an eleven-year-old girl with untameable brown curls on a hunt for an out-of-season flower floating in his mind. "We parted ways once I found a familiar landmark—I managed to get turned around only twice more before finding home, but I found my way back to that cemetery and the girl a week later."

"Should I be at all concerned your mystery lady frequents the place of the dead?"

"Certainly not." Draco sniffed, rolling his eyes. "She has always loved walking, and told me once that is special church. The cemetery has lovely trees and fresh air…" He shrugged. "I never questioned it. I just kept returning, and as I never had more identifying information other than her first name, I simply never told anyone about her."

Theo eyed his friend warily before stabbing a bite of beef pie with his fork. "And the heir of Wiltshire has been ambling the streets of London without question every summer since, save for last year?" He shoved the fork into his mouth, giving exaggerated chews.

Here was where Draco's lips twisted, guilt warming his neck under his collar. "I may have given false account a few times when I was younger, saying I was visiting you…" To his utter relief Theo only laughed and flashed him a wicked grin, before waving his hand, dismissing the falsehood. "It only amounted to a couple of days a week or only once every couple of weeks the first years. Our walks became near daily two and three years ago... At any rate, I have never really questioned any of this. It seems Providence has granted me the most wonderful of treasures year after year. And if she will have me, I will find a way to love and cherish her always."

Theo considered him for several silent seconds. "Sentiment," he said, rolling his eyes and digging back into his beef pie.

* * *

Hermione thought she had known of heartbreak before.

There was the previous summer when Draco never came to The Bench and she tried to convince herself it was all for the best (an obvious failure).

There was the time when she was ten years old and Harry Potter shared his portion of trifle with Ginny Weasley instead of _her_ at the summer picnic.

There remained still that small part of her heart that remembered life before her mother and father...That remembered cold, hungry and sleepless nights alone, waiting for her birth mother to come home…Waiting alone on a church bench to see if anyone would find her; if anyone would care...

This time was different.

A lump that refused to budge formed in her throat as she tossed a look over her shoulder, steeling herself. And her nerves.

Yesterday's letter explaining that she would be unable to meet Draco after all was no longer under the rock on The Bench. Her hand shook as she lay today's letter down, setting the rock atop.

This time was different. Utterly and completely.

Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes as she walked away from The Bench. Away from every memory it held. Everything it represented.

She set a resolute course under a covering of thick clouds for Theodore Nott's House. Her new fiancé was waiting to have tea with her. She swallowed again; the lump declined to be swallowed still and the throbbing in her heart intensified with her every step.

This time was different because Hermione was breaking her own heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem credit to William Blake


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity. All errors are mine.  
> I do not own anything in the Harry Potter Universe.

* * *

_Dear Draco,_

_My deepest regrets and apologies for not coming again today. It pains me to inform you that I will not be coming back here anymore._

_I hope you will not think ill of me for it. I will cherish the memories of these summers always. But this has been a dream._

_And the time has now come for me to awaken._

_Do not come back for me. Please, do not even look for me. Forget about everything you said two days ago. Study law. Live your life. You deserve every beautiful and blessed thing this world holds for you. Be happy and God bless._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

Draco had not known it was possible to be blinded by tears until this moment.

This would _not_ be the end.

It _could not_ be the end.

Hermione had come... _She had come!_ To this precise spot two days ago, as she had every sixth of June since they first met. She had come without any hope that he would return at all.

 _She had come_.

He blinked in rapid succession, a valiant effort to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks. He would not give in, because this letter was foolishness. It explained nothing and was far too vague—none of which described Hermione _at all._

Which meant this dagger to his soul was _not_ to be taken seriously; this _nonsense_ of a letter may very well be a forgery—he had no example of her writing to compare it to. He had simply accepted yesterday's letter on faith.

He knew he could not have been mistaken: he had seen the elation in Hermione's eyes when she first saw him and as they continued to talk the afternoon away. He had been warmed by the golden jubilate beams in her smile, in her laugh and her girlish giggles. He had seen the rosey flush of her cheeks that gave him hope for _more_ …

All of which had filled him with every ounce of courage he could muster to introduce her to his father this very day...

He blinked down at the letter again, numb and confused, her words ringing in his hollow mind.

It simply did not make sense. Their friendship had endured silence from September to June year after year. Yet she always returned to this sacred bench in this hallowed cemetery.

She returned as he, and together, they learned each other anew.

She had basked as he in every blessed moment the summer availed to them. She had clung to these memories as he had on the coldest of winter nights.

He just _knew_ she had, because _he_ had.

And she returned year after year, just as he had.

He slammed the cursed paper closed against its careful folds, shoving it in his coat pocket, turning on his heel on the pathway. He would not accept this nonsense until she dismissed him in person.

Which meant that he would need to see Theo.

* * *

"I see you are as delighted by our current situation as I am, Miss Granger."

Hermione's laced fingers tightened in her lap as she blinked up from an empty teacup (plain white, nothing decorative or elaborate about it, but still appearing to be of fine quality) to meet a friendly green gaze. She forced a tight smile as she loosed a shallow exhale.

"My apologies, Mr. Nott—"

"Just Theo, if you please," her host corrected, an easy smile toying at the corner of his lips. "We are to be on friendlier terms from this point on…Shall I call you 'Hermione' now that we are officially sitting down to this?"

She stopped herself from wincing just in time. Her name did not roll off the tongue as honey, as something savoured and precious, as it had with Draco.

_Draco…_

She drew a sharp breath, cold resignation settling in her marrow. "I think I prefer we stick to proper formalities for the time being."

"Ah," the young man hummed, a gleam she could not define dancing in his eyes. "Shall we be one of those couples referring to each other as 'Mister and Missus'? Or perhaps you would prefer 'lord and lady'?"

A glance down to her hands told her her knuckles had now gone white. "'Miss Granger' is sufficient for now." She lifted her eyes once more. "Please."

The gentleman gave a sultry chuckle. "As the lady wishes." He gave a flippant wave over the ample spread. "What would you like while we settle in to this ghastly order of business?"

It was impossible, but the faintest glimmer of hope ignited and flickered in her chest. "Just tea for now."

"Some milk and sugar?"

"Just milk." She lifted her cup out to him, grateful her hands had not trembled as he poured her tea accordingly. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, considering his previous statement, deciding to risk peeking through that door… "You are not agreeable to this engagement, Mr. Nott?"

The young man continued to stare at her as he stirred his tea and plunked two scones and one sweet bun on his plate, eyes appraising and glittering all the while. "I am not," he said at last, and it was all Hermione could do to keep her shoulders from sagging. "I was just teasing a friend of mine from school the night before last about his own upcoming arranged nuptials, entirely unaware that my father had been plotting for mine that very day as well."

"I see." Hermione breathed in the steam curling from her tea, taking a small, fortifying sip. "Have you tried to talk your father out of this? To reason him to seeing your point of view?"

"Unfortunately, my dear Miss Granger—" the young man flashed a wry smile "—there is no reasoning with Thoros Nott. There is only pounds and power. I have not had ample time to look into things to see how to get either of us out of this mess—" the flicker became a flame "—which may take more time than either of us have." He canted his head, brows lifted in question. "It may simply be easiest and best all around if we appease him and keep the loans from foreclosing on your precious periodical, and simply have the whole thing annulled in a year—if you can keep yourself from falling for my charm and graces, that is…"

Hermione recoiled, spilling her tea in her saucer. Her blood chilled and hands gave in to the tremor as she dabbed at the mess with her napkin.

Sweet salvation in a year… Her family out of debt…

Until Thoros Nott's words, ' _family way',_ clanged and clattered in her mind.

"I am not certain a clean separation afterwards would be as easy as you are making it sound," was the answer she decided on. She gulped a breath. "And, even if it is, what then?"

"We go our separate ways as free citizens of the world!" He took a large bite of a scone, chewing with his mouth closed, or he would have reminded her thoroughly of Ronald at the moment. "I am free to be a bachelor of modest means and you will be at liberty to work or marry. I would not divorce you in disgrace or shame; it would be quiet and simple and you would leave me with a neat and tidy sum to keep you on your feet until you figure things out."

His words were tempting and sweet...But she had already told Draco not to wait for her...Not to even look for her… "Unfortunately," she started, taking a quick sip of tea, steadying her voice and nerves, "I am not of the opinion it will be as easy for me to assimilate back into a normal life as you. My reputation will be ruined and I worry I would be a burden to my parents for the duration of their lives after you and I parted ways."

"Nonsense," he said, eyes boring into hers as he took a long sip of tea. "Very few people would remember or care for insignificant events in the lives of insignificant people five years hence. Since I have no intention of siring any offspring at this time—" Hermione's cheeks _flamed_ , and she ducked her head, wringing her hands in her lap "—your reputation would hardly be sullied. The gossip may be miserable for a few months at the most, but it would all blow away at the end of the season, as if it never happened at all."

 _If only it were that simple._ She bit down on her tongue, shaking her head. "I think if you are as unhappy with this arrangement as I then we should focus our efforts finding another means of paying off the loan without marriage being part of the equation."

"Am I so repugnant that you find my suggestion so distasteful?" She would have protested, but for the playful lift of his lips and chin as he continued. "Or, perhaps it is not me after all, and there is another who has captured your heart, and you think he would find you less desirable coming from an annulled marriage."

Annulled marriage... More baggage she would bear. Draco would never forgive that... Never understand her sacrifice…

She shook her head, permitting a sadness to fill her smile and eyes in this moment of vulnerability. "I have severed my ties, and I doubt he would understand even if he waited. And even so, I love my parents and our business. I would despise to be in a relationship where I needed to constantly beg forgiveness over circumstances beyond my control. I will do what is necessary and—"

"Begging your pardon, sir." A tall, balding butler with red cheeks entered the tea room, bold and not apologetic in the least.

The young Mr. Nott snapped his attention from Hermione. "What is it, Thomas?"

"There is a young gentleman to see you, sir."

Her host gestured to her and over the table. "I am entertaining a guest and unavailable."

"I told him that already, sir." The butler hefted his chin. "The young gentleman is rather insistent."

"Is he?" A feral smile spread on the gentleman's face as he turned to Hermione, dabbing his napkin to his lips. "Would you excuse me for a few minutes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione loosed a breath, nearly relieved. "Of course." Her shallow breathing continued until the butler closed the door behind her host.

Silent minutes ticked by as Hermione looked about the room, taking in its sparse decorations and the impressive looking platter of temptations that had been served with their tea. Her host must have taken his unexpected guest to another room, for no noise entered the tea room through the closed doors.

She leaned over the table, lifting her eyes to the door, and decided her host may be several minutes yet... Ample time to turn his plate so that she could occupy herself by counting the crumbs on upon it.

When she had reached twenty-five she rose from her seat with a quiet but irritated huff, deciding she might as well have a better study of the hanging paintings. There was a particularly lovely landscape on the far wall of the tea room, the water reflecting the skyscape in an especially unique manner…

"...all worked out, Mr. Fudge…"

Hermione startled backwards at the voice, whirling, eyes narrowed and searching for the source of the male voice; but she was alone in the room. She blinked, held her breath, and waited…

"...arranged it so that their payment is due at the end of that month…"

Her gaze snapped left, searching for a crack, a crevice…

A small grate near the ceiling, its vents open. She cast a quick look over her shoulder before rising to the tips of her toes, tilting her head to hear more.

"...of course this work. We... all winners in this matter, Fudge!"

Hermione frowned. The speaker was Thoros Nott, that much was clear. He seemed to be walking about or pacing, which would account for the clarity of his words... But who was Fudge? That name had a ring of familiarity to it…

"Nonsense!" she heard her host's father exclaim, followed by a loud 'thud'. "My son will be a family man, and I'll not live in constant fear of him catching syphilis…" The eavesdropper clapped a hand over her mouth as the voice faded again. "...showing up at my doorstep with some bastard offspring. A personal victory for me, and I have no intention…"

Hermione bit back a groan, pressing her hands and herself to the wall, desperate. _Needing_ to hear more…

"...What could they say in defense? I will have made the full loan payment, what is it to me if I turn over management of _The Niffler_ to you?"

A loud gasp fell from Hermione's lips, her head spinning and falling against the wall before she could stop herself…

"...Hear something, Fudge?"

She pushed herself from the wall, skin scalding as if it had burned her. Blood thundered in her veins as she spun, marching for the door to the rhythm of 'turn over management'. She must away this very moment, and hang the blasted engagement! The son could be in on it as well for all she knew!

Her hands shook as she reached for the doorknob and she took a steadying breath before twisting the polished brass knob, pulling it open carefully, so as not to draw attention to herself. She stepped lightly out to the foyer, turning to the door to pull it softly to…

"Has my absence bored you to the point of leaving, Miss Granger?"

Her heart stuttered in her chest and she dropped the doorknob in her alarm. "Mr. Nott," she started, cheeks flaming, yet forcing her eyes to slide to meet her host… "Not at all," she said, heart twisting at the bright glint in his eyes and broadening smirk in his expression... It was imperative she _leave._ "I suddenly remembered I am needed for something at the publishing house this evening."

Her smile was tight, she knew, and likely unconvincing, yet still, she hurried her legs three quick steps to the front door, sliding a look over her right shoulder. "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Nott."

"Would you not care to finish our discussing and scheming, Miss Granger?" He took an advancing step towards her, hands behind his back, maintaining the expression of the cat that ate the canary…

"Thank you, no," she breathed, making quick work of the distance between herself and her hat. "Good day to you," she called out as she snatched her hat and threw open the front door…

Apologising as she nearly collided with the butler just outside in her haste.

The vile city air had never smelled so glorious and freeing as when she touched both feet to the sidewalk and broke out into a run for home, not once looking back, while Theodore Nott called out after her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to CourtingInsanity. Errors are mine.   
> I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

* * *

_Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—_

_Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night..._

Draco's mind was everywhere and nowhere as his carriage plodded along the streets of London, eyes observing, yet not truly seeing youths weaving through the flow of traffic, dodging horses and carriages to clear away a fresh pile of dung…

_And watching, with eternal lids apart,_

_Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,_

_The moving waters at their priestlike task_

_Of pure ablution round earth's human shores..._

Hermione had been at Theo's house—he would know those wound and piled curls anywhere! The carriage jostled him in his seat and he chuckled as he remembered the stunned look in Theo's eyes when Draco had seized him by the back of his jacket, dragged him back to the study, slammed the door and demanded an explanation.

It took every fibre of self-restraint to not pummel his friend to the floor as he laughed and laughed in the midst of explaining. Draco hardly found any of it amusing when finally aware of the facts as they were.

_Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask_

_Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—_

He had reached down to the marrow for his final reserves of restraint, decorum, and prudency to order his carriage to his home address, and not to the address Theo had given him for the publishing site of _The Niffler_ , Hermione's address.

_No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,_

_Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,_

No, that address would have to wait until tomorrow. There was business at home he had to attend to first…

The carriage came to a jerking halt and Draco still seemed in a fog as he exited and paid the fair, blinking at the steps leading up to the front door. He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs completely, exhaling in slow, even beats.

_To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,_

_Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,_

_Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,_

_And so live ever—or else swoon to death._

Resolved and filled with purpose, he strode up the front steps and through the front door, gliding by Dobson without taking time to remove his hat or coat. It was this very purpose that flowed through his veins, guiding him as he made his way back to the bench amongst tombstones and trees summer after summer.

He was as resplendent as the rising morning sun as his heels clicked up the foyer. He threw open the library doors. "Hello, Mother," he crowed, beaming and bursting. "You look heavenly this fine day...And Father—" he clapped his hands behind his back, unable to contain his himself as he moved into the center of the room "—I am going to ask that you refrain from all correspondence pertaining to the union of myself and the Lady Daphne, or any other lady for the time being."

"Oh?" Lord Malfoy closed his book, laying it on the sofa beside him. "I believe I made myself clear on—"

"Actually, you did not, sir." Draco straightened his shoulders, rooting his feet to the carpeted floor, unwavering and decided. "You barked a command and went to dress for dinner, and erred when I left in a huff and avoided you all of today up until this point. I apologise, but that is all neither here nor there at the moment. We will return to the subject of whom I would have as my wife, if she would grant me the honour, momentarily, but I have a business venture I would like to discuss with you first."

He stood his ground, one breathless second bleeding into the next as his father's alabaster face cracked and crinkled with lines. Wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes and mouth and on the cusp of excitement or pride reflected in his pale grey eyes as he eyed his son. "Go on."

* * *

The world was overcast and grey as Hermione set out for a late morning walk. She should have found some other means of occupying herself about the publishing room before lunch, but it became impossible to focus under the weight of so many thoughts.

She had slipped out the back door without going upstairs to retrieve a shawl or a hat _—_ a grave error on her part, for the wind was merciless and she feared her pins would not be able to withstand such strain forever.

She chewed her lip as the familiar outlines of the church roof and steeple came into view. Yesterday's letter would be gone as well, she knew that. She had not necessarily come here to look…

She just came.

She would always return to this place; she was tethered to it long before Draco had entered her life. It was more than a building with pews waiting to be filled one day each week. It was more than the Guardian of Souls buried in the acre of lush, green grasses behind. It was more than the keeper of The Bench.

It was where Providence or Fate extended Its hand of grace, bringing her parents to her. Or she to them. She found salvation from a destiny of unimaginable sorrows and anguish that would have otherwise awaited her in a Workhouse…

Love and loyalty flooded her veins, flowing warm and free, curling a gentle smile upon her lips.

A gust of wind tore at her pins so that several curls tumbled around her face and her skirts whipped around her legs, uncertain which way they ought to be carried. She smiled still, breathing deep. As deep as her corset allowed, savouring the sweet scent of summer roses from the garden and stepped lightly around side of the greystone building,

She permitted herself a slow, pensive exhale as the hill waited for her. Waited to test her. Or perhaps to taunt or to tempt. Perhaps the motives mattered not; the battle was before her, the choices were here to be made.

The defining moment of where her loyalties truly lay.

She grit her teeth and marched up, fighting against the wind, swiping at tangled curls blowing across her eyes and nose. More pins fell, helpless against this force of nature, but she carried on, forcing her legs faster and faster so that her heart raced inside her ribcage and breaths fought their way in and out of her lungs. Her legs protested against the pace she set, but she did not falter, did not halt for a moment.

Until she came to The Bench.

She heaved great lungfuls of air, grey and cold and sorrow suffusing every last inch of her as she stood alone on the hill.

The stone which she had placed over her letters lay on the ground at the front of the bench as though it had been dropped. Perhaps in shock; perhaps in grief; perhaps in anger. Or a combination of all three.

And it was empty.

He would not come back; she had told him to live his life, asked that he not think ill of her. He probably would. But that was of no matter in light of what must be done. For _The Niffler_. For her parents.

Her arms wound themselves tight around her waist as she stood, not moving towards the bench. But not moving away. She had come here to think through her options. And remind herself once and for all that Draco would play no part of the future...

Of what was necessary.

She had laboured long and hard last night, sleep evading her with every toss and turn. She stood here now considering her final conclusion: Marriage to Mr. Nott's son would be of no benefit to her family if her parents would not remain in control of _The Niffler_ , even if the loans were paid off immediately. Which meant she needed to find some other limitless source to plead her case to.

Her shoulders sagged under her concluding decision. She knew newspapers, she was quick, smart and a hard worker. She would go to _The Daily Telegraph_ and beg for any job. To Mr. Fudge himself and plead her case for any deal that would send all her pay towards the loan, so long as her parents could keep _The Niffler_.

She would turn to the Potters, the Weasleys and the Lovegoods and beg for any amount of savings they had.

As a very last resort, she would marry the Nott son as long as there was a signed and witnessed contract that her parents would retain ownership of _The Niffler_ without question or dispute.

_And Draco…_

A knot twisted in her heart, choking her very breath from her lungs…

She swallowed hard, finding it a useless effort to relieve any of the swelling pressure within, and turned around, making her way back down the hill, back around the church, back to her home to talk with her parents.

She left the cemetery, banishing all hopes of Draco to remain _—_ a restless spirit among the tombstones that would haunt her every time she returned.

Because she would always return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem credit to John Keats


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity. Errors are my own.  
> Thank you again to the LOVELY moderators of this fest.  
> I own no part of the Harry Potter Universe.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy, stood firm as he grasped Mr. Granger's hand over a solid oak, giving it a sound shake. "You will not regret this, sir."

The moustached man laughed the laugh of one in excited disbelief. "To be sure I will not."

"What in heaven's name is there to regret, Draco?" Theo scoffed, taking Mr. Granger's hand next, shaking it vigorously. "Everyone wins in this deal, except for my father, which is a great personal victory by my estimation."

Mr. Granger hummed, whether in agreement or simply for the sake of placating Theo, Draco could not be certain. "And neither will _The Daily Telegraph_ if what you are telling me is true of your father's schemes, young man."

Theo lay a hand over his heart, the other he lifted palm up. "I solemnly swear, Mr. Granger," he swore as Draco rolled his eyes at such theatrics. "If you had demanded a contract, the fine print would read that he owned everything and had full rights to hand over daily operations to whomever he pleased. _The Daily Telegraph_ would presumably give a greater return for his investment, but I have a feeling we three will find a way to make waves and cause mischief in the world of print _—_ providing you are up to the task, Mr. Granger?"

"Oh, indeed my good man," declared the gentleman across the desk, shoving his thumbs in his vest, moustache twitching in a manner that brought youth and vigour to his countenance.

"Excellent." Theo clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Draco will be busy studying the law, which means we will always be kept abreast of the rising political changes and we can eventually use his services and cut the expense of having a company solicitor…"

Draco _harrumphed_ , clapping his friend soundly on the back. "You will both do well to remember that my role in this venture is minimal for the time being. I am merely an investor at th—"

The office door was thrown open, creaking and moaning as a voice began talking...A _female_ voice that had the confusing effect of stiffening his back and facial muscles as his heart fought against its cage of ribs and flesh.

"Father, I know it is early fo— _Draco?"_

The gentleman in question faced the lady slowly, suppressing his every urge to close the distance between them in two easy strides, take her in his arms, and…

He cleared his throat, ignoring Theo's gauging expression. "Hello, Hermione."

"What a—"

" _Draco_?" Mr. Granger squawked from behind.

The Malfoy heir flattened a hand on the desk he still stood beside, debating which stunned Granger he should address first... The father seemed the appropriate first choice, out of societal obligation...

But taking in the sight of the woman in the doorway... She was _beautiful._ Fallen curls framing her face as others fought to spring free from their pins. Brown eyes wide, lips pressed into a thin line, cheeks flushed as if from exercise (and what a lovely shade that would be against his bed sheets…). His mouth ran dry; it was impossible to address either as seconds ticked by.

"Draco," Hermione repeated, taking one, then two steps into the office, as if he could not possibly be real. Or _here_. "How did you find me?" she asked, ignoring her father's strained query, and Draco decided to ignore the fact that the gentleman with the authority to pummel him should he step one toe out of line was a mere arm's length away from him. Theo remained impressively silent... Apparently, he was capable of demonstrating some measure of decorum.

Draco shifted entirely, clasping his hands in front of him. "I did not know you would be here."

She gave a crooked smile, twin chocolate irises flickering between himself and her father behind him. "In my own home?"

"Touché." There was nothing for it, he was grinning like a fool as she took another two small steps towards him, almost close enough to brush a finger over a curl… "You were not here when we arrived, your father offered to introduce us, but one of the employees said you had stepped out."

She gave a stiff nod. "I did." He heard hear swallow. "I needed a walk to think, and I…" She hesitated, tilted her head as if considering how much to reveal. "I needed to see for myself the letter would be gone and that you would not be there." Her perfect red lips lifted in a smile that spoke of mingled sorrow and peace. "It was not, and you were not."

"Correct on both accounts."

Her brows furrowed as their attentions remained fixed upon each other, everything in the room falling away. "Then you found both of my letters; you read both of them?"

"Yes." His smile was sad at the conjured memories of yesterday's anguish. So she had penned the letters. _Both_ letters. A silent void filled the distance between them. It as vast and impenetrable even at the thought of her written words…

He caught movement at her lips, finding them moving while no sound came out…

She had mouthed his name. Such a simple act, so small he had almost missed it, but he had not. And now a courage unlike any he had known before poured from his heart, shooting to his feet and the gap between them no longer remained, for he was now _inches_ from her, close enough to _feel_ waves of shock ripple from her.

"I must know, Hermione, I am in agony until you tell me true: the last letter…" He lowered his face nearer hers, her loveliness filling his vision, her warm breath puffing against his chin. "Did you mean it?" Tears filled her eyes as her lips parted, but her lower lip only trembled. He brought his hands to her elbows, cradling them as he might fine porcelain. "You cannot imagine how much I have agonised over each and every word in yesterday's letter; Theo here can bear witness to my misery, I interrupted him at tea yesterday—"

A gasp escaped her chest. "That was _you_?"

"It was." He decided to risk it and floated a hand to a few curls and tucked them behind her ear. "And when I caught a glimpse of you running out the house—" He stopped himself, pulling his hand back as he studied the depths of her warm brown eyes... "Tell me now if you meant it. One word and I'll banish myself from your life completely."

A lone tear spilled from her eye, tracking down her cheek, and he debated if was brave enough to swipe it away in front of her father. "Not entirely," she said, eyes falling shut as she bit down on her lip. He waited until she blinked back at him and shook her head. "I did not. Not at all."

Hope danced in his chest, yet he forced his features placid and voice calm as he asked her, "You did not?"

"I _could_ not." Her head shook more fiercely this time as one of her hands balled into a fist, pressing over her heart. "Every word I wrote was a nail to a coffin, burying my heart to love; dooming me to a fate or haunting a cemetery and the memories it held." Her lip trembled again and she paused to swallow. "And then...when I didn't see you today, it was the final blow. I just knew I had lost you forever."

Tears that he was not ashamed of stung his own eyes as he felt himself drawn down, _down_...nearer her face...her skin. "Oh, Hermi—"

"My God, you two!" Theo exclaimed, startling them several steps away from each other and back to the reality of their surroundings. Draco's gaze locked on Hermione, relishing the flaming pink suffusing her cheeks; he almost missed what Theo said next...  _almost._ "I cannot keep Mr. Granger from pouncing and thrashing you for the liberties you are taking any longer, Draco!"

 _That_ caught his attention and he shifted his stance, angling just enough back towards the desk, where he noted the father appeared more amused and curious than anything…

And Theo, the dramatic sod, had lazily propped himself against the desk, arms folded over his chest. "This is really quite simple and it is a disservice to everyone in the room if the two of you are setting out to recreate _Romeo and Juliet_ , which would be a tragedy in its own rights—that shite has already been written and it's damn torture." He finished with a scoff of exaggerated disgust

Draco's eyes slid from Hermione to her father. "I think what you mean to say, Theo, is—"

"Silence, please." The obnoxious fellow Draco had the displeasure of calling a friend had lifted a finger to his lips and was now shushing him as if were a very small child. "You had your chance to be clear and concise, but you failed and I am intervening before you waste any more of _my_ precious time, and confuse and/or anger our generous business partner any more."

It was only now that Draco's cheeks flamed, and he considered how this must look to Hermione's father... Meanwhile, Theo had already righted his posture, proffering his right hand to Mr. Granger. "It appears, sir, that my friend here is in love with your daughter. In light of this joyous circumstance, I shall formally recant my pending proposal of marriage, which I had already planned to do before your daughter interrupted our business meeting—"

" _Business meeting?"_

Theo ignored Hermione's cracked query from behind, straightening his arm even more, expression serious. "Is this acceptable to you, sir?"

The mustached gentleman huffed, accepting Theo's hand in a firm shake. "Thoroughly and completely, Mr. Nott."

"Brilliant!" Theo's broad grin fell, face twisting in abhorrence, likely utterly unforced. "And the name is Theo, if you'd be so kind, my good fellow. We are all business partners now."

"What...?" Hermione's arms were now wrapped about her waist as she moved around Draco, focusing on her father. "What happened while I was out?"

The publisher cleared his throat, looking equal parts hesitant and joyous as he waved a hand between Draco and Theo. "It seems, daughter dearest, that _The Niffler_ has two new investors."

"Investors?" Her brows furrowed then lifted and _hang it all_! It was heavenly listening to her repeat necessary facts to catch up—had he ever fully appreciated the many expressions her face took on?

"Yes," her father continued. "Young Theo came here, just after you apparently stepped out. He had this gentleman with him, claiming they had an alternative solution to our publishing house's financial situation." He cleared his throat, a look of gratitude washing over his face. "It seems Theo has some money of his own—"

"All above board, for the record." Theo added, which Draco almost snorted at. Theo regularly set the most absurd bets each year at school, and won nearly every time… "Which is more than I can say for my father…" he continued as Draco bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

"Which was of great concern to me, I should add," Mr. Granger commented.

"Of course it was," Theo said. "You're a respectable businessman. And now I am as well. And with Draco's contribution, there is no danger of debtor's prison or the Workhouse anytime soon, which frees you up to present goals and future plans at our first board meeting next week—will that be sufficient time for you to prepare, my good fellow?"

"Oh, absolutely." The man huffed, straightening stacks of paper on his desk.

"Draco's contribution...?" Hermione murmured beside him, her cinnamon flecked chocolate eyes waiting for his when he looked right.

"Yes." His shoulders straightened. "What I was getting to when my nuisance of a friend interrupted is that after you left yesterday, Theo and I talked. It came out that he was unhappily being pressed to marry _you,_ and I had already told him of you. In the midst of our discussion, his father entered the room with a Mr. Fudge of _The Daily Telegraph_ , and was forced to come clean with his plans to Theo."

He was avoiding her question, he knew he was, but he pressed onward... God above, he needed to _talk_ _to this woman_. "I know the words of your dismissal by heart," he said, hushed and thick, sidestepping to be in front of her again. "Even so, I went straight to my father as soon as I returned home yesterday. I negotiated a portion of my allowance to be used as an investment in _The Niffler_. And I came here today fully prepared to make my investment without ever encountering you—"

"A damned foolish decision, that."

Draco glared at his friend over Hermione's lovely head and allowed the lines in his face to soften as his eyes rested again on her face. "Do forgive this idiot's manners, or lack thereof, Miss Granger."

She offered the sweetest of smiles, a dimple forming in her porcelain right cheek, and it was torture not binding his arms around her, pillowing her lips with his…

He drew a shaky breath. "But since you are here... I _had_ to know if you meant what you wrote—"

"I did not!" she burst, hands lunging outward as if to take his before she came to herself and laced them together, laying them carefully over her simple dress. "Oh, Draco... I meant what I said earlier; I loathed every word I wrote," she repeated, knuckles turning white. "I had determined to do what was necessary to save _The Niffler_ , but my heart was yours from the very first day. I beamed all the way home that you allowed me to drag you around everywhere to find daffodils."

His heart would beat free of his chest and fly away for such immeasurable joy. "All this time?"

"Yes." It was watery, but the simple word rang as loud and any clear as a bell in his mind. Her eyes slid over to her father and back to him. "I must ask you again how exactly you have the means to offer such an investment... You were sick for a year, and only now completed your studies. You're to start at University of London this fall…" She trailed off, gnawing on her bottom lip, eyes brimming with unanswered questions.

"Oh, that…" Draco sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It seems I failed to give you my full name the other day, which is Draco Malfoy." His lips pressed into a thin line of their own accord as he watched the cogs turn in her head, under the mass of pinned and fallen curls.

Her eyes widened. " _You_ are _that_ son! The son of the earl that was sick!" Her eyes widened impossibly, and she seemed to sway where she stood. "Your father is Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire?" Her voice pitched and squeaked…

She jerked her face right. "I promise to explain all shortly, but please allow me a few minutes alone with Draco, Father." She swallowed, drawing short breaths. "It...there… It seems there are some things we need to discuss."

It was a blur of voices and smirks and glares and veiled and silent threats that Draco allowed to pass over him, opting to not focus on anything until the office door closed and he was alone in the room with Hermione.

His throat bobbed. _He was alone in a room with Hermione._

The lady cleared her throat. "So that we are clear and aware of all the facts: you are the only child of the Earl of Wiltshire—" Draco gave a stiff nod, uncertain if his heart should be sinking or preparing for a subsequent rejection as she continued "—while I am the adopted daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, proprietors of this humble publication house."

His head tilted, blinks measured and slow as he considered his response. "But you look so much like your father."

She chuckled, canting her head in response. "Funny, right? Mother says it is the hair colour and the shape of our noses."

Alone in the room, he crossed the lines of propriety, fingering the ends of a curl, something purring in his chest as her breath hitched. "Do you remember your parents?"

"No." She lifted her mirroring hand, skimming the tips of a finger over his knuckles, threading her fingers through his as his hand opened, creating a space to be filled. "I remember images of my mother. I remember being cold, hungry, tired and lonely. I remember darkness. I remember a hoarse and haggard voice drilling into my mind that if there was ever a night she did not come home, I should find a church and wait there for someone to come for me. I remember waiting on an empty pew, sad and scared that no one would ever find me… That no one would want me."

Her lip trembled and he squeezed her fingers, stepping closer and cupping her cheek with his other hand. She nuzzled into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. "I remember feeling at home and belonging for the first time when the Grangers brought me here. I remember the scalding tears when they said I was their daughter, and I would never lack for love again.

"Your friend, Theo, presented the option of us annulling the marriage after a year, allowing me to return home without shame, with Mother and Father being debt free, but…" She loosed a watery scoff, lifting her shoulders. "I know what I wrote in that letter, but still I worried an annulment would be the final thing that would make me unacceptable to you. That it would be too much after the adoption and the working family, and the fact that I would still like to work even after…"

Her eyes fell shut as her lips pursed together, cheeks tinted that glorious pink again.

A wicked grin lifted the corners of his mouth. "Hermione?" He waited as she took a sharp breath, pouncing the instant her eyes opened, closing his lips over hers in a kiss that was chaste and over too soon.

_Far too soon._

His entire being screamed to resume and deepen what had just been started as he pulled back, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. "Since you brought up the subject of marriage…"

* * *

The sixth of June would forever be the most perfect day of Hermione's existence.

It was the day she first met Draco Malfoy at the tender age of eleven. It was the day she dared to hope that she had found a love so true and pure at the age of eighteen.

And it was that very day precisely a year later that she wedded that love and became Mrs. Hermione Malfoy, future Lady of Wiltshire.

Her husband promised her in a tangle of limbs and sheets later that night that they would return every year for their anniversary and have a picnic on their Bench. She kissed him in response, slow and deep, pouring the fullness of her joy in her touch.

He had promised they would always return together and it was the greatest gift he could have given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this :)


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